


Even in Darkness

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Murder Mysteries - Neil Gaiman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although he walked away from the Presence, Raguel cannot bring himself to leave the Silver City just yet. (G)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "Murder Mysteries" and all characters therein belong to the wise and venerable Neil Gaiman.   
>  A big thank you goes out to my fabulous betas: CadetDru, SoundingSea & M. You guys are absolutely amazing, thank you. 
> 
> Written for Karanguni

 

 

 

_I stood up and walked to the window. I hoped He would call me back, explain every detail of His plan to me, somehow make it all better. But He said nothing . . ._

  
I did not leave the City right away, not yet.

I wanted to, and _meant_ to, but as I flew over the City and headed back toward my cell, I saw the Host. They were circling, diving, pinwheeling across the sky in perfect formation. Their swords, burning bright with the flames of Heaven, trailed figurines behind them and traced patterns in the air. You must understand -- there is no such thing as night-time in the Silver City. Yet it was dusk, or something like it, because the sky was the color of rust, and beneath it His army spun and dove in unison, as one solid mass of flaming sword and silver wings. I could have watched them for days, so entrancing were their maneuvers. 

But Lucifer was not with them. An angel hovered just below the Host, watching them; occasionally he would shout a command and the angels would scatter and re-form into a new pattern effortlessly, swords glittering in the light. Even from afar, I could tell that he was not the Captain of the Host, for Lucifer's light burns brightest of all the angels in Heaven. 

As I neared the phalanx of angels, I wondered briefly why Lucifer was not with them, fulfilling his function. Then I remembered the troubled way he had left the Presence, the tears he had shed before he turned his back on the Lord. I felt compelled to search for him, although perhaps "search" is not the correct word. I knew where I would find him.

I left the Host to their war maneuvers and flew toward the Hall of Being, the spire acting as a beacon. 

The Hall is at the very edge of the City, teetering on the precipice of Darkness. It is tall and imposing, the house of Creation. I descended past the silver minarets, and when I reached the base of the tower I saw the Angel Lucifer. He was standing in the shadow of the Hall, at the very edge of the Darkness, staring at the sidewalk where Carasel's body had once lain. 

Lucifer did not turn when he began to speak. 

"He should not have died." 

I joined Lucifer in staring at the sidewalk. It was empty and clean, and the silver ether from which it was woven glittered before our eyes. There was no trace of Carasel's death -- neither bloodstain nor stray and broken feathers. The street had been cleaned long before Saraquael's trial, but the whitewashing had not bothered me then as it did now.

 _Now_ , I felt that the nature and purpose of Carasel's destruction had been concealed, that somehow his sacrifice in the Name of the Lord was forgotten. I knew that his death served a higher purpose -- the Lord Himself told me as much -- but I could not help but despair. Carasel would not be remembered for his numerous contributions to Creation; he would be remembered for being the first victim. His death was one event among many which would lead to Lucifer's downfall, and Carasel himself would fade from memory.

"We could not have anticipated the events that led to Carasel's death," I said, perhaps as a means of comfort. "There was nothing we could do." 

"I was talking about Saraquael." Lucifer turned to look at me. There were no tearstains on his perfect face, but his eyes were red and tired. " _He_ should not have died." 

"It was His will, Lucifer, as I have told you before," I replied. "Saraquael killed an angel, and he was rightfully punished for his actions." 

Lucifer's expression hardened, and the glow within him flickered like a lightning storm. "Saraquael killed Carasel, yes, but he did so because he was blinded by _love_." He turned his back on me, his wings sagging as if in defeat. "His punishment was too harsh." 

"And yet, he was a murderer." 

Lucifer whirled on me with fire in his eyes, his voice sharp and angry. "What excuse do _you_ have? Saraquael killed for love; _you_ killed because it was _His_ will. Which is the greater crime, Raguel? Who is going to judge _you_ ; to whom do _you_ have to answer? Is _your_ crime of murder not the same?" Lucifer towered over me, his wings quivering like a silver banner against the amber-colored sky. "Or are you going to take vengeance upon _yourself_?" 

I waited until Lucifer calmed himself, until his inner light dimmed from the fire of rage to an agitated shimmer. He pulled back from me, as if he were embarrassed by his outburst. But the questions he asked were just and fair; in retrospect, I understand why he is the Lightbringer.

I understand how Lucifer was grounded in the conviction, as we all were, that the Name was infallible and benevolent, and now I understand how his faith in the Justice of the Lord became distorted and crippled. I know how the Darkness fed off Lucifer's confusion and distress, replacing his belief with skepticism, his passion and love for Creation with a deep, despairing hatred. I know how the Lord did nothing to repair the damage done, how He watched the first of His children stumble and fall. And I can almost -- _almost_ \-- understand _why_ Lucifer fell.

But Lucifer was right; who would take vengeance for the destruction of Saraquael, which I had wrought in the Name of the Lord?

I spoke softly, for I knew my answer would upset him. "It was my function." 

"Then I _regret_ calling you to it." He spat. 

I was surprised, and hurt. "The Vengeance of the Lord is not unmerited, Lucifer. His will is--" 

"His will is _wrong_." 

Lucifer almost shouted, but the strength of his voice faltered at the end, as if he was afraid _He_ would hear him. The concept of _Blasphemy_ had not yet been Created, but Lucifer was already becoming acquainted with it. 

I wanted to correct him. I wanted to tell the Angel Lucifer that _he_ was wrong, that the Name was infallible and His omniscience was indisputable. I wanted to tell him that the Plan was perfect, and that everything happened for a reason, even if those reasons were not made clear to the Host. We were angels, subservient to the Lord and His will; we were not meant to question His Plan. Not even Lucifer, the first among all angels. 

I remembered my own feelings regarding the circumstances surrounding Saraquael's destruction. I remembered my conversation with the Lord, how I felt betrayed and used by Him, how my function and purpose felt tarnished; I did not feel that Saraquael's death was an act of justice. I remembered how He did not reprimand me when I said so. 

I should have admonished Lucifer for his outburst against the Creator of All Things; despite my own misgivings, it still felt _wrong_ to speak out against Him. Angels were not made to defy the Name.

Instead I said, "Perhaps." 

The Angel Lucifer met my eyes then, and stared at me as if he saw me for the first time. He was surprised by my confession, but troubled, too; certainly there was truth in his statement regarding the Vengeance of the Lord, even if he chose not to admit it. 

Sometimes, when I remember my life in the Silver City, when I recall the perfection of the Name and the whole of Creation, I remember this moment. I wonder -- if I had voiced my concerns to Lucifer then, if I had chosen to reproach him instead of encourage him -- if things would have turned out differently. For him. For all of us. 

But it is not my function to dwell on the past. As far as I know, I was fulfilling part of my insignificant role in His great Plan. Just as Lucifer was, when he finally looked away from me, into the Darkness at the edge of the City, and said, "How can I not doubt Him?" 

"I do not understand." I said, because I did not. 

Lucifer did not meet my eyes. He walked a few paces toward the Darkness, staring ahead into the roiling pitch. He did not flinch or look away. I followed his gaze, but the depth of blackness was overwhelming, and I averted my eyes. 

"What do you know about the Darkness?" Lucifer asked, curious. 

"I do not know much," I admitted. "I know that you walk in the Darkness, to test yourself. I know that there are voices in the Darkness." 

"Do you know what the voices _say_?" 

"I do not." 

Lucifer turned to look at me. "The voices say that the Silver City was built as a _prison_ for the Host, that our subservience to the Name will be our downfall. They say that the Name is unjust and unfair, that He is _not_ all-knowing and all-powerful, that He is just a _coward_ hiding in a fortress of silver. They say that Creation will fall in ruins because of Him." Lucifer swallowed, and his gaze drifted to his own hands, his fingers flexing nervously. When he next spoke, it was in a whisper: "I do not want that to happen." 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, and chose my words carefully. "Do you believe the voices speak the truth?" 

"I... I do not know." Lucifer met my eyes, inner light flickering uncertainly. "I believe in the infallibility of the Name. As Phanuel said, I feel love for my Creator. I look upon his creations, at the perfection of the City, of Creation, of _us_ , and I see the power of the Lord in these perfections, and I am humbled and awed. I want to fulfill my function perfectly, for Him. To _please_ Him." 

"But?" 

"But I cannot ignore my own feelings. I believe Saraquael was destroyed unjustly, that his punishment was too great for his crime. I question His judgment and I wonder _why_. Why was Saraquael killed, and why was _I_ witness to his trial? Why did He Name _me_ to be the Captain of the Host? Why must He have an army? Why does He need the Creation, and to what purpose? Why--" Lucifer broke off, hands balled into fists. "I ponder these questions daily, Raguel. I question the Name, and His purpose and motives, and I feel ashamed for doubting Him." 

"There are reasons for everything, Lucifer. Even for your doubting," I said. It was not a statement that I myself believed in, but I felt comfort in saying it aloud. "Every event and every action has a purpose and a reason, driven by His will. He has an ineffable Plan, and we must have faith." 

"I know. And the Plan called for Saraquael's destruction. I _know_ ," Lucifer replied, sighing. "But _why_?" 

I knew why, of course, at least in a finite sense. I knew that Saraquael and Carasel had been encouraged to work together, because Carasel threw himself too deeply into his work, and Saraquael was too easily swayed by emotion. I knew that there was an ulterior motive in my fulfillment of my function, in the destruction of Saraquael. And I knew that everything was predestined, and that the motives and reasons were His alone. I knew we were simply pawns in His ineffable game, and that did nothing to comfort me.

"I do not know," I lied. I looked into Lucifer's mist-grey eyes and saw the burden he carried. I saw how weary and confused he looked, how brightly his eyes burned with anger. I could not talk of my conversation with Zephkiel even if I had wanted to, and I didn't. It was not my place or my function. But as Lucifer turned from me and glanced toward the Darkness again, gaze flitting over the sharp edges of the City, I felt pity. I felt sadness. 

"We are not meant to know," Lucifer said. "Even in the Silver City, in this place illuminated by His power and will... Even _here_ , we are kept in Darkness." 

Lucifer was right, of course. And I knew he was right, but I did not speak. I could not speak. He turned away from the Darkness and raised his head toward the indigo sky, eyes searching the empty spaces between the towers of the City. 

"I have left them for too long," Lucifer said, absentmindedly. "I have work to attend to, Raguel. I must return to the Host." 

Lucifer turned and met my eyes, one last time. 

"Thank you for the discussion, Raguel." He paused, his perfect face distorted by an emotion I could not yet name. "It was... a comfort." 

Lucifer beat his wings once and rose toward the sky, leaving me standing on the edge of the City, with my back to the Darkness.

I stood there for several minutes, thinking on what Lucifer had said and listening to the sounds of the City: the distant beating of angels' wings, the whistling of the breeze between the willow trees, the faint noises of argument in a distant tower. I reveled in the sights, from the distant black specks of circling angels against the amber-colored sky, to the minute silver filigree on the spires surrounding the Hall of Being. I basked in the feel of the wind in my hair, and I delighted in the warmth of the light on my skin.

I absorbed the City. I committed every detail to memory. And then I stepped back, and let the Darkness engulf me.

  
 _. . . and I left His Presence without ever looking back._

 


End file.
